Slow Waltz
by Juliana Eschette
Summary: Roderich Edelstein only cared for his music, until a washed-up Gilbert Beilshmidt decided to walk into his life. Well, 'walk' isn't exactly the correct term. It was more like he got drunk, passed out on Roderich's couch, and decided to stay. Resentment turns to friendship, and friendship turns to something a little more, much to the musician's disbelief and wonder.
1. Chapter 1

_Slow Waltz_

Pairing: PruAus (Prussia x Austria [Gilbert Beilshmidt x Roderich Edelstein])  
Setting: Vienna, Austria  
Genre: Romance/Mystery

Roderich Edelstein only cared for his music, until a washed-up Gilbert Beilshmidt decides to walk into his life. Well, 'walk' isn't exactly the correct term. It was more like got drunk, passed out on his couch, and decided to stay at Roderich's place for a while.

Author's Note: I'm quite proud of this one, actually. I'm not used to this sort of 'short' style, so I really enjoyed the challenge. I hope you all like it! I guess you should blame George De Valier for getting me hooked on this pairing. I hope he updates soon, but for now enjoy some PruAus!

* * *

1

It was beautiful. It really was. He wasn't talking about the music, or the brightly lit stage, or the overwhelming harmony of the symphony. No. None of those things could compare. His eyes were glued on him. Just him. Him and his gorgeously carved violin. Him and his dark brown hair and almost violet eyes. Him and his slight frown upon his face. Perfect.

"Enjoying yourself?" asked Elizabeta, noticing that Gilbert hadn't spoken in a while. The practically silver-haired young man had to tear his eyes away from the violinist.

"What?" he said, not having heard over his thoughts.

"What's with you today? I would have expected more complaining on your part."

"Geez," sighed Gilbert. "Can't I catch a break? You drag my ass to the symphony and now you're complainin' that I'm not talking."

The brunette gave off a small chuckle. "I guess I should be more grateful then."

"Whose idea was this anyway?" complained the young man.

"My ex-husband was in town and decided to treat me to a night out."

"Should he be here instead of me?" he grumbled.

"We'll meet him once this is done. He was sweet enough to offer to pay for dinner, too."

2

Gilbert blinked and then blinked again. He had no idea why he was here. Elizabeta was busy chatting away with her ex-husband. It was weird, really, to see the violinist there before him. It was stranger still how comfortable Elizabeta was around him, considering that they were no longer married. But who was he to talk? He was her ex-boyfriend, after all. Three course meal, two exes, one beautiful (but insane) heartbreaker. Excellent.

His name was Roderich, he had been told. The name suited him. It was aristocratic, poised, all that good stuff. Gilbert watched the Austrian's mannerisms, but realized he was staring. Normally he would have stopped, thinking that it was atrocious to be so captivated for so long, but who was he to deny his awesome self a little harmless wide-eyed speculation?

"So," said Roderich. "Eliza tells me you have a little brother."

Gilbert chuckled. "I don't think 'little' really describes him. The bastard's fucking huge for a German."

"Oh, don't be silly," giggled Elizabeta with a roll of the eyes. "Ludwig is a very handsome and gentleman-like young man. You could certainly learn something from him."

"You sound like my mother," he muttered.

"Just as well, too."

They ate and they drank, and had the occasional swear-full conversation. Roderich, however, remained silent through the majority of the evening. He didn't speak unless spoken to, and even when did open his mouth, it was usually no more than a five word sentence. But it was alright with Gilbert because every now and then, he though Roderich was looking at him, too.

3

Gilbert groaned. It had been a while since he had drunk that much. Elizabeta wasn't much of a party sort of person, but when it came to drinking alcohol, she was queen of all the beer bottles and cans. Unfortunately, Gilbert knew all too well that he was too proud to turn down the challenge of downing liquor. So when he was about to swear off drinking again, he chuckled softly. _Like hell_, he thought with a smirk.

He sat up slowly, the throbbing in his head suddenly turning to a piercing pain. The lights were practically screaming at him for his stupidity. The silverette looked around. This wasn't his living room. This wasn't his couch. This wasn't his dampened washcloth on his forehead which had promptly fallen upon his lap. This wasn't strange to him, however. He had awoken plenty of times in a stranger's care after a binge. Well, Francis and Antonio could hardly count as strangers, but still.

"Oh," said a monotone voice. "You're up. Good. You can see yourself out."

It was the violinist. Gilbert raised an eyebrow. Why the hell was Roderich here? And where was Elizabeta? How much did he actually drink? What time was it? God. His head hurt. "Hello, Roddy," Gilbert said through his teeth. "Mind getting me some coffee?"

"Of course I mind," huffed the Austrian. "It's bad enough that Elizabeta left first thing in the morning, but I'm running late because of you."

"I'll take that as a 'no'," sighed Gilbert as he lay back down.

"Don't get too comfortable."

"But I was planning on it, sweetheart."

Roderich let out a heated sigh before turning his back on Gilbert. "I must really head off. Make sure to lock the door on your way out."

4

"You're late, Edelstein," snapped the conductor.

"I apologize. I had the misfortune of meeting my ex-wife's ex-boyfriend."

"How the hell did that happen?"

"It's a long story," said Roderich quickly. He placed his violin case down upon the counter before him and pulled out the instrument.

Though he quickly lost himself to the music that produced itself from the strings he so expertly played, there was a nagging though in his mind. Long after Gilbert had passed out from last night's drinks; Elizabeta was still far from finished. In fact, she had planned it all.

"He's got nothing left, Roderich," she had said sadly. "He lost his job, his brother moved out about a month ago, and I'm worried. I really am."

"And why is it my problem?" frowned the Austrian, taking a sip of wine. It was of good quality, but the direction that this conversation was going was making it taste bitter upon his lips.

"You said yourself it was lonely in your house," she shrugged.

"I was considering getting a cat, not a foul-mouthed drunkard."

"He's not that bad. Not usually."

"It's out of the question," hugged Roderich. "How did we even get on this absurd topic?"

"Please," said Elizabeta. It sounded extremely sincere, though. "You're not even home the majority of the time. He just needs a place to stay until he can get his life back on track."

"And how long do you expect that to be? I'm not exactly fond of freeloaders."

Elizabeta sighed. "If you refuse, I'll have no choice but to call in that favour you owe me."

Roderich raised an eyebrow and then frowned, suddenly remembering. "Is that your wish?"

"You owe me, Roderich. Just let the idiot sleep on your couch for a while. It's all I'm asking. I'll get him out of their in no time, I just need time to prepare some stuff." Roderich glanced back over at the now snoring silver-haired young man. The way the dim restaurant light reflected of his hair was actually quite… calming. He wasn't so bad when he had his mouth shut.

Roderich let out a sigh. He had no idea why he said yes.

5

Gilbert had not been asleep that night. He had known for far too long what Elizabeta was planning. She was just sick of him staying at her place. He couldn't blame her, though. It was pathetic, running back to his ex-girlfriend for help. In fact, it was impossible to call her his ex-anything. They had simply been childhood friends. Or childhood rivals, whichever you would prefer.

It was around noon when Gilbert finally decided to roll of the couch and do something with his remaining hours alone in the house until Roderich was expected to be back. "Get your ass out of my house and get a job," Elizabeta had snapped oh-so many times the last month. He would have done just that, but there was no such luck. Really. The economy was bad. Nobody was hiring. On top of that, the rent had gone up, too. Who could blame Gilbert for being this… helpless?

Gilbert rubbed his eyes. He was better than this, and he knew it. It was just tough. Yes. That's what he tried to convince himself into believing. Even the awesome Gilbert Beilshmidt could be down on his luck. And maybe, just maybe, this Austrian violinist would be able to turn it all around.

6

Dinner was, for a lack of better words, awkward. It was just the two of them, silence, and their chewing. Gilbert felt the urge to say something snarky about the meal, but thought otherwise. It was different with the Austrian here. Had Elizabeta been there with them, more than a conversation would ensue. Perhaps an argument, a mild fist fight, and then a drinking game. No. Roderich was clearly not the kind of person to enjoy such ruckus.

Now that Gilbert thought about it, it was sort of like this with his younger brother, too. Ludwig used to be so adorable, talking about his day whenever he got back from school. Somewhere along the line, that changed. He became more and more stoic, and unreadable. Then one day, he just left. Gilbert frowned down at his plate. He always knew his brother had a life, but…

"Is something the matter?" asked Roderich, having noticed Gilbert's change in expression. Perfect. No more silence.

"You've got interesting taste in food," he commented.

"Is it not to your liking?" questioned the Austrian. He didn't seem too eager to please his new guest.

"Nah. Just needs a little spice. And beer."

"Beer," repeated Roderich. He rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd want beer."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Not a thing," said Roderich as he stood up. "I shall retire for the evening."

7

"Three months," said Elizabeta, holding up three of her elegantly long fingers. "That's all I need, Roderich. Let him stay for three months and by the end of it, he'll be out of your hair."

"Can't you let him take care of himself? Why are you trying so hard to help him?"

"I'll have you remember, dear, that I'm not always thinking about myself."

"Oh, I remember, _darling_," he said through clenched teeth. "You tried adopting those Italian kids and then that one kid from Singapore…"

"They needed a mother."

"Yes, yes. That was always your argument."

"Enough," frowned Elizabeta. "I'm doing this because I owe him a favour."

"Like I owed you one?"

"Exactly."

"Very well. Three months and not a day more. If not, I will have the pleasure of kicking him out."


	2. Chapter 2

_Slow Waltz_

* * *

8

There was only one thing Roderich had learned over the first week that passed: Gilbert was one seriously lazy asshole. What was stranger still was the fact that Roderich couldn't bring himself to get irritated. Well, not _extremely_ irritated. He sort of gave up trying to tell him what to do all day. He wasn't a child, and he was certainly not his main priority.

It was four in the afternoon. Gilbert had planned on moping around the Austrian's large house for the remainder of the evening, but decided to spread out on the couch in one of the many living rooms the place had to offer. He could hear a violin somewhere down the hall, sweet melodies playing behind a closed door. The little master was home. He had a schedule, and a very well-kept one, at that. It was almost ridiculous how easily Gilbert could find him. Seven in the morning was breakfast. Eight in the morning was piano practice for two hours. When the clock struck ten, he was off to work. By four he would come home and continue playing his violin. Dinner was always at seven. Lights out was usually by eleven.

_I'm such a stalker_, he thought.

Gilbert grinned.

Perhaps it was about time to see if little master could handle a curve ball or two, just to see how much he was really made of.

9

3:55 PM. Not a single sound could be heard as Roderich opened the front doors. How odd. The Austrian glanced from right to left. It was too quiet. The silence was almost alien after a week with Gilbert. Had the idiot finally left? "Just as well," muttered Roderich. He didn't need a goodbye, but a little notice would have been nice. Just as he was about to close the door, he heard somebody hiccup behind him.

"Where the fuck have you been?" slurred Gilbert. His breath was heavy with bear.

"Dear God, are you drunk?" frowned Roderich, taking a step back.

"The Awesome Me nev'r gets drunk. It was just a lit'le walk 'round th' block. Fucking forgot th' keys inside. I had to wait around 'till you showed up."

"You're drunk," stated Roderich firmly. "Who on Earth gets drunk this early in the afternoon?"

Gilbert stumbled past clumsily, brushing Roderich out of the way. He took a left down the hall.

"Your room is the other way," called Roderich as he closed the door.

"I wasn't goin' to my room." Gilbert snapped back as he wobbled down the corridor.

Roderich let out an exasperated sigh. _I better follow him_. _He might end up puking in one of the piano rooms_.

And the piano room it was, but Gilbert managed to pass out on the sofa before he could throw his guts up. Roderich knelt down beside the stretched out fool, examining Gilbert's features. He wasn't taking care of himself. Elizabeta had told him he was a mess, but she never explained the true extent of how seriously fucked up Gilbert really was. Roderich reached for the half-empty beer bottle in Gilbert's left hand. It was nasty stuff. He threw it away immediately after placing an extra throw blanket over Gilbert's shoulders. A drunkard was one thing, but a drunkard with a cold would have been a simple pain in the ass.

When Roderich left the room, Gilbert's eyes slowly cracked open.

"Bastard's not that bad, after all," he shrugged and then went to sleep.

10

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" shouted Elizabeta.

"Of course I'm aware," said Roderich.

"It's three in the morning! I don't care what the time difference is! Hell to that! There's no time difference at all!"

"Eliza, listen," said Roderich hastily. "He hasn't come back in three days."

"Who?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"Gilbert, the idiot you dumped on me. He hasn't been back and I'm worried."

11

Gilbert exhaled. It felt good to smoke. It had been a while. When he was with Elizabeta, she hated it. She said it was a nasty habit, but _damn_ did it feel good to have that burning sensation back in his lungs. It was destructive, yes, but it was worth it.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. It was another text from Elizabeta:

_Where the fuck are you, asshole?_

Good old Elizabeta. You could count on her for her kindness. Two seconds later:

_Reply, damnit! We are worried sick!_

_We?_ Who's we? Then the thought occurred to him. Oh. Roderich. The little master of the house. Was he really worried after all? No. That seemed highly unlikely. She was probably just typing it as a general statement. People were always worried about him. Always. No matter how strong he used to be, no matter how successful. It was as if, no matter how fine he was, there was always somebody out their worried about his sanity.

_Tell us where you are. We'll come and get you_.

Gilbert sighed. He just wanted… He didn't know what he wanted. He used to have it all. The money, the girl of his dreams, his family… Life was looking pretty shitty. He used to be great. He used to be _awesome_.

_Don't worry_, he texted. _I'll be back for dinner_.

12

Gilbert had experienced many things, but Elizabeta's tongue lashings were by far the worst he had ever had to live through.

"You're such a child!" she practically screamed. "We're trying to help you. Why do you always have to run away from help?"

"I'm not some charity work, woman!" he exclaimed.

"Then at least tell us where you're going so we don't have to worry about you being dead in a ditch somewhere, God damnit!"

"I'm not a child. You don't have to keep fucking tabs on me."

"You _are_ a child. You sure act like it. I don't care how many years you've lived; your mental state tells me you are incapable of making any reasonable decisions on your own. Don't you get it? We care about you, Gilbert. Why can't you see that?"

"I've lived twenty-five years all by myself, Eliza. I don't need you to tell me how to live. I raised my brother all by myself, for God's sake! Don't you dare say I can't handle it."

"You're not exactly proving me wrong, now are you? Getting drunk, pissing your money away on only God knows what. I'm trying to help you. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"You don't understand," muttered Gilbert bitterly.

"Well why don't you try explaining it to me then?"

Gilbert stopped instantly in his tracks. "I can't…"

"Elizabeta," said Roderich. It was the first time he had spoken since Gilbert came home. He stood from his seat behind the table, looking her directly in the eye. "It's late. I'll show you to your room. We can continue this in the morning when we've all had some rest."

13

Gilbert lay upon his bed, eyes glued on the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. He just couldn't. There was no way he could explain it to Elizabeta. There was no way in the universe that he could possibly find a way to explain. God. It was so hard. He just wanted to close his eyes. He just wanted to be at peace. But how could he possibly be at peace when his mind wanted to shatter him to bits?

"This is pathetic," he muttered.

"What is?" asked a voice.

Gilbert sat up, alarmed. "Holy fuck, Roddy! How long have you been there? You scared the shit out of me."

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't run off again."

"I heard you were worried."

With the dim light of the moon through the closed window, Gilbert could see the trace of Roderich's frown. "I think I can help you," the Austrian said after a while.

"If your strategy is to get Eliza to yell at me, I don't think it'll work."

"When we were married," the Austrian said quickly. "Eliza wanted to adopt two Italian brothers. They lived with us for a while, but they couldn't stay very long."

"Why?"

"That's not important," snapped Roderich. He stood by the door, leaning against the white painted frame. "One of the boys was named Lovino, though we all just called him Romano. In some ways, he was like you."

"I'm assuming he wasn't allowed to get drunk."

"No," the Austrian almost chuckled. "No, but he was a lazy ass, like you. But I don't think he meant to be that way. It was just that his brother was so much more… talented, I suppose."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you're not as hopeless as you may think. If you let me, I can help you get back on track. I don't know how, but I think I can do something."

"Why would you bother?" huffed Gilbert.

"I ended up giving the brothers away. I couldn't help them."

"So you feel guilty."

"A little, yes."

"Great," Gilbert rolled his eyes. "I'm a pity case."

"Yes," stated Roderich bluntly. "Yes you are. But the way I see it is that society won't have to deal with a ruffian like you once I'm through with you. I don't want everybody else to suffer like I do."

And with that, the Austrian left the room.

14

Gilbert was confused. He had dozed off and suddenly woken up in the orchestral hall. How on Earth did Roderich convince him to come along to his work? There had been no bribery. If Gilbert recalled correctly, he had been forced; practically obligated to come. Perhaps he had simply been tired of arguing. So he sat there, fuming like a child. Nobody seemed to mind. They were all too busy with their music.

They were going over one section of the movement over and over again. It was fucking annoying. The conductor was one picky bastard. Everything had to be perfect. Gilbert found it ridiculous. Every time they played, it sounded wonderful. Not that he knew anything about music, but he was pretty sure that a regular audience wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

"No, no," the old man snapped. "Not like that. With more power. More vigour!"

"Shut the fuck up," muttered Gilbert under his breath. He was sitting near the middle section of the seats, so his words didn't carry. The conductor was probably half-deaf either way. If he could hear properly, he would have been able to tell that the music was just fine.

His eyes wandered around the orchestral hall, taking in the architecture. There were several frescos over the opera boxes and the walls were decorated with numerous carvings and plasters. There was a light feel to everything. There were golden designs here and there, the red velvety seats added to the décor, and there was a grand chandelier hanging just above them from the domed ceiling. Gilbert grew bored very quick, however, and his eyes finally rested back on his dear Austrian.

Even from where he was, Gilbert could see that the little master's spectacles were slightly unclean. There was a very distinct smudge on one of the lenses. He wondered if Roderich had noticed. Surely he had. Something so perfect probably couldn't stand for such an imperfection. His hair had a slight curl to it, today. He had woken up late, so he had no time to fix it in the morning. Well. He _could_ have had time, had he not spent all his free minutes dragging Gilbert's ass out of bed.

Gilbert studied his violinist's face. It was angular. He had a point chin and equally pointy nose. His eyes were large, though. Large and dazzling and deep. There was a small mark on the side of his chin. A beauty mark for a beautiful creature. It seemed right. The way he held his violin was elegant, and his bow even more so. The way it rested between his shoulder and chin was like gazing upon a perfectly carved statue.

"Damn," whistled Gilbert.

* * *

Author's Note:

I have no idea anymore... I'm so tired. Wrote it in half an hour. Impressive, or crappy? I suspect crappy.

*Goes to die in a hole*

~K

PS: **Coffee, Guns, & Tea** will be updated sometime next week! 3 I've developed a system. After CGT, I will update **Acrylic Painted Smiles**, and then **Slow Waltz** again until I'm all done. Please look forward to the new installments! 3


	3. Chapter 3

_Slow Waltz_

* * *

15

Gilbert was entranced.

Just as he had been the first time he saw him playing on stage that night. Violin at hand, bow at the ready, and features that would put Michelangelo's David to shame. Sure, he wasn't muscular or made of marble, but still…

_Perfection_.

16

Roderich had noticed Gilbert was wandering less and less around the house's halls. Instead, he resorted to hanging around the music rooms or the gardens just beside the music room windows. _Especially_ so when Roderich was about to practice the violin or tinker around on the piano. Was he curious, or was he just lonely? The house was huge. Even Roderich could feel lonely at times.

Gilbert's company was better than no company at all, he supposed.

17

Gilbert had started writing in a little book he had found lying around. It was one of the old notebooks that Roderich had intended for music writing, but never actually used it because it was far too small to hold all of his musical genius on paper. He was always writing in it, that Gilbert. Between snarky remarks or job hunting in the paper, he was always writing.

It was sort of like the way he always seemed to dart his eyes away when Roderich glanced in his general direction. It wasn't… creepy, like Roderich first imagined it to be. In fact, it was somewhat amusing. Gilbert was a lot quieter now, in a volume sense. He still talked a lot, though. But he was almost… sweet. Perhaps it was the fact that Roderich had banned alcohol from his kitchen cabinets, or maybe it was because Gilbert had finally learned to stop acting out. Roderich wasn't too sure.

All he knew was that this stranger, who wasn't so much a stranger anymore, was actually much kinder than he originally thought him to be.

18

"And what's this little block-shaped thingy over here?" asked Gilbert, pointing to the music score.

"That would be a rest. A whole rest, to be more exact," stated Roderich matter-o-factly. "This is where no note sounds."

"Like when somebody's taking a breath, _ja_?"

"Almost, yes," nodded the Austrian.

"And what about this one?" he inquired, pointing to numbers at the beginning of the staff.

"That's a time signature."

"Looks like a fraction to me. What does three-four mean?"

"It's the rhythmic pattern of a waltz."

"This stuff's confusing," complained the practically white-haired man. He would normally protest that he was just of an extremely blonde-species, though.

"I suppose it is," nodded Roderich, a small smile on his face.

This was comfortable. Gilbert felt like he could breathe again. This missing thing that he couldn't describe had filled that empty void he had tried to replace with booze and girls for so long. This felt right. It felt complete.

"Did you ever play an instrument as a child?" asked Roderich, sitting down beside Gilbert on the piano bench.

"The clarinet. Quit after about a month. Wasn't that great."

Roderich let out a small chuckle. It was like listening to music.

"I can only imagine," he joked.

19

Elizabeta glanced awkwardly at Gilbert, and then to Roderich, and then back to Gilbert again. It was quiet at the dinner table. _Too_ quiet. As she reached for her wine glass, the Hungarian woman noticed something in the way the two looked at each other. It was respect, sure, but something else underneath it all.

"So…" she said slowly, breaking the silence. "Has there been anything new lately?"

The two men at the table exchanged looks with one another. _What's going on?_ Elizabeta thought.

"The Awesome Being that is I," began Gilbert, "found a job."

"Oh?" she said, genuinely surprised. "That's great! Where is it?"

"There's this little music store down on this corner, right by the restaurant Antonio used to work at. Anyway, the store owner said he could use a little help and offered me a job."

"Good for you!" smiled Elizabeta. "That really is wonderful."

"I know," grinned Gilbert proudly.

Elizabeta looked at Roderich with a knowing face. _You pulled some strings, didn't you_? Her expression seemed to say.

Roderich nodded, understanding the silent message.

20

Gilbert _had _noticed.

Most people thought he was an idiotic fool, but he did have the capability to pick up on signals. It was sort of obvious, in a way, or maybe he was just imagining it all. Maybe he was just imagining the way that Roderich's hand seemed to linger a second too long when he passed him dishes to dry. Maybe he was just imagining the way that Roderich always seemed to glance away with a slight blush on his cheeks when Gilbert looked his way. Maybe he was just imagining the words of encouragement that sounded a little more intimate than they were supposed to be.

_Maybe I'm going crazy_… he thought to himself one night as he walked into the piano room. Roderich was stretched out on the couch, papers filled with dotted patterns and staffs and –What did he call it? Oh, right. Time signatures – all over the place. The young Austrian's face was still in a frown, even though he was sound asleep. Work had been awfully tough the last week, what with the concert being held in another month. Last minute ditch attempts to make things sound right after the one tuba player had quit was seriously taking its toll. Even Gilbert could tell.

Gilbert sat down gently on the end of the couch where there was still space. He watched for a while, listening to the violinist breathe in and out. He got bored pretty quick. He picked up one of the sheets of paper. It was difficult to read. The ink pen that was still resting in Roderich's hand, and the smudge marks on the page, indicated that it was fresh and new. Roderich was composing again. It was a dream of his, Gilbert had once been told. It was a dream that never really came true. He just never seemed to have time.

Gilbert stood up as he tugged off the sweatshirt he was wearing, and gently draped it over the Austrian, who was still deep in slumber. He took the chance to examine Roderich's face. His skin was surprisingly smooth for a man. He was clean-shaven –or simply lacked the ability to grow facial hair – and his eye lashes were surprisingly long. Gilbert let out a small sigh. He couldn't remember what it was like to not be… infatuated.

Who was he kidding? _Infatuated_ hardly seemed to be the word.

"Good night, princess," he said with a small grin. He leaned down and kissed Roderich on the forehead before heading out towards his own room.

When the door closed, Roderich swore his heart was about to burst. He cracked one eye open, took a quick look at the room, and then felt his face flush red. "Don't call me 'princess,'" he pouted, covering his face with his hands. Gilbert's jacket was warm. And it smelled… well, musky, but Roderich didn't mind.

He curled up tighter, wondering what he should do.

21

"What should I do?" asked Gilbert. He had considered calling up Elizabeta, but there was a reason why they had broken up so many years ago. She liked playing matchmaker. It was terrible, really. And she was a secret die-hard gossip. All you have to do is give her two names and she'll tell you whether or not they'd make a good pairing. So here he was, sitting in a booth with two of his oldest and best friends.

"Tell him how you feel," shrugged Antonio, a Spaniard who had just so happened to be in the area and was coming back from a visit to see his Italian boyfriend.

"Don't be so clichéd, _mon cher_," argued Francis, the French photographer all fashion magazines were dying to get in contact with. "I propose something a little more romantic. Sweep 'im off 'is feet. Give 'im a good kiss that'll make 'im see stars!"

"You're calling _me _clichéd?" said Antonio with a roll of the eyes. "That probably came out of a bad romance novel you read, _amigo_."

"So what if it was?" retorted the Frenchman.

"It's _terrible_."

"Guys," interrupted Gilbert. "Seriously. Help."

"From what I 'ear," sighed Francis. "This guy doesn't sound like a good idea."

"Yeah," nodded Antonio. "What gives, _hombre_? You can have all the girls or boys you want. You've never taken relationships seriously before."

"You have to understand, dude," whined Gilbert. "This is… different."

"Yes. The situation is different," agreed Francis. "But it's still _you_. You've never taken anything seriously in your life. Suddenly this boy comes waltzing in and you're 'ead over 'eals."

"Don't you remember how that British asshole made you feel?" inquired Gilbert. "You wouldn't shut up about him for weeks until he broke your damn French fry heart!"

"That was a long time ago," huffed Francis. "I can't believe you are bringing 'im up."

"I heard he found an American," whistled Antonio. "Good looking, too."

"What about you?" snapped Francis. "All I ever 'ear is Lovino this and Lovino that…"

"He is _muy lindo_ and you know it! I can't help it if I always want to talk about him!"

Gilbert exhaled impatiently. He didn't know why he bothered hanging around these guys.

22

"Hey, princess?"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering…"

"Yes?"

"Well, it wasn't so much wondering as… well, thinking about…"

"Please, get on with it."

"I found this place, near the music shop. It's an apartment on the second level of the building."

"What about it?"

"Well, I've saved up, and I'm actually making an income, and I think I've overstayed my welcome… I mean… You _did_ give me three months to get my act together, and… I don't want to be a burden, is all. So I figured I'd get my own place, and…"

"I… see."

"You okay? You look kinda pale."

"I'm quite alright."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Silence.

"When… will you be leaving, then?"

"In about a week or so… I just wanted to let you know, I guess."

Silence.

"Roderich?"

"Yes?"

"…Nothing."

23

His things were already by the door. Roderich was at work, so there was really no chance to say goodbye. Gilbert felt terrible. This was worse than when he had arrived. He never really thought he would have wanted to stay for so long. It wasn't the house. It wasn't the food, or the warm bed, or the fact that he had a roof over his head. No. His original intention was to use this sucker. This sucker whom Elizabeta had introduced him to. But this was twisted. This was cruel.

He never planned on falling in love.

24

The jingling of door keys could be heard all the way down the hall. Roderich opened the door slowly, the emptiness suddenly hitting him like a speeding train. He had wanted to say goodbye. Perhaps this was for the best, though. He was sure he wouldn't have been able to handle it. It was just better to avoid the situation entirely. He dropped off his keys on a coffee table, hung up his coat and scarf, and then removed his shoes before entering.

He closed the door behind him, praying to hear the annoying voice of his houseguest somewhere. Anywhere. Roderich blinked and then blinked again. Here he was again. Just him and his lonely house. It had been so long since it had been so silent. It was disturbing to think he would rather hear Gilbert's obnoxious self-promotion than nothing at all. Roderich wandered down the hall and to the piano room. Just as he always had. The sooner he could get back to schedule the better.

But as he opened the door, his heart threatened to jump out of his chest.

"G-Gilbert," he stammered. "W-What are you doing here?"

Gilbert stood from his spot at the piano, a look of bewilderment in his eyes. "I couldn't go," he said softly. "I just couldn't do it."

"But I thought–"

"I know."

"I thought you would have–"

"Yeah," nodded Gilbert. He took two quick steps forwards and covered the distance between them.

"I thought–"

"Just shut up and let me kiss you, okay?"

Roderich swallowed, the nervous lump in his throat refusing to disappear.

"Okay," he said.


	4. Chapter 4

_Slow Waltz_

**A/N:** WARNING! SMUT! SMUT! SMUT! TURN BACK ALL YE WHO ARE FAINT OF HEART! AH! RUN! SERIOUSLY! SMUT! YAOI! LOOK AWAY IF YOU'RE UNDER 17 (?)

* * *

25

Gilbert groaned, his skin feeling feverishly awesome and tingly. Who would have thought the Austrian could ever make him feel this way? The way Roderich's lips brushed against his own was just… heavenly. The kisses started out soft, hesitant, almost unsure, but Gilbert soon found himself lost in the way he could so easily hold Roderich close. And the Austrian showed no restraint. He just as equally loved the way Gilbert held him, his strong arms wrapping around, hands on the back of his neck and just above his waist. Roderich himself felt like he could no longer stand. What was this? How could he have possibly fallen for such an irresponsible, careless, negligible aberrant? But then again, what did it matter?

"Gil…" breathed Roderich, breaking away for a slight second, only to have his lips captured again by a more confident man. Their tongues played capture the flag between both mouths. Gilbert noticed how sweet Roderich tasted. God. It was so good. That, along with the Austrian's naturally sweet smell. He loved the way Roderich's delicately beautiful fingers lost themselves in his short hair, trying to grasp onto something to hold as he began to feel dizzy with want.

"OH. MY. GOD."

Both men looked stopped. Shocked. What just happened?

They both looked to their left to see Elizabeta, flushed, wide-eyed, and smiling like an idiot.

"You forgot to lock the door, didn't you?" sighed Gilbert.

"I might have," nodded Roderich sheepishly. He cleared his throat, trying to sound as calm as possible, though the fact that Gilbert was still holding him wasn't really making the situation any less awkward. "What are you doing here, Eliza?"

"Oh. I'm sorry." She sounded like she would burst out into laughter at any moment. "Should I go?" she asked. "I mean, after you drunk dialed me complaining about how Gilbert was leaving, I figured I'd come over and see how you were doing. You're clearly doing fine though. I'll just go."

"No, wait," interrupted Roderich. His face was flushed. Gilbert still hadn't let him go, the idiot. It was just making him feel uncomfortable now. "That'd be rude. Please… uh… stay for dinner."

"You drunk dialed her?" smirked Gilbert. "Over me?"

"Shut up," retorted the Austrian. "I wasn't drunk."

"That makes it even better."

26

Roderich mentally face-palmed himself. Inviting Elizabeta to stay for dinner was a bad idea. The entire dining room was dead silent. And it wasn't the comfortable silence that Roderich so much enjoyed. It was that stomach churning, heart flipping, hurry-the-hell-up-and-say-something sort of silence. Even Gilbert looked uncomfortable, and that was an odd thing to see in person.

"So…" Elizabeta said with a raised eyebrow. She was more than amused. "When did… How did… this happen?"

"Well…" ventured Gilbert. Roderich placed his hand on Gilbert's knee, a signal to shut up.

"It's nothing, Eliza. Really," said Roderich quickly.

"Oh?" frowned Gilbert.

"I'll talk with you later," whispered the Austrian. Elizabeta was grinning.

"This dinner is fantastic," she decided to comment. "I never thought this particular spice could ever get along with these vegetables. They really do work together quite nicely. It's odd, but it's nice."

Roderich could feel his ears burning, but he did his best not to think of it.

27

"Well, thank you very much for… dinner," smiled Elizabeta at the front door.

"Not at all," nodded Roderich.

"I'll call you later." Elizabeta kissed both Roderich and Gilbert on the cheek before departing. She would be squealing herself to sleep tonight, Gilbert was sure.

Roderich finally closed the door and made sure that he locked it. As soon as he turned, he found himself pinned to the door by Gilbert's strong hands. "What's the matter?" frowned the Austrian. "Let go."

"'_It's nothing_?'" repeated Gilbert. His voice was dangerously low and gruff. It was sexy, but also scary.

"What?"

"What did you mean by that, princess?"

"Nothing, really. I just didn't feel that there was suitable response for the situation."

"Bullshit. You're probably just ashamed."

"No," said Roderich with a shake of his head. "Of course not."

"Then why not tell her the truth?" asked Gilbert, his brow in a frown.

"Like I said, there was no suitable–"

Gilbert pressed his lips harshly to Roderich's, cutting him off mid-sentence. Gilbert's large hands wrapped around him again, this time hungrier for warmth and filled with need. Their chests were pressed to one another's, so close that Roderich could feel both of their heartbeats. He couldn't breathe. The sudden kiss had taken him by surprise, and Gilbert refused to give him any time to recover.

"G-Gil–" stammered Roderich. It was no use. He was pinned to the door, passionate and fiery kisses stealing away his chances for air. In the frenzy, Roderich began to unbutton Gilbert's shirt, his piano fingers working quickly and effectively. He was eventually standing there with a half-naked man, who was diligently leaving a heated trail of marks along Roderich's neck.

"Roderich," whispered Gilbert in his ear. Roderich was surprised. There was a gentle, but threatening tone in his voice. The way he said his name made his stomach flip. He wanted to hear it again and again and again until his ears had finally had enough. No. It would never be enough.

"Gilbert, please, wait–"

But he would not wait.

Gilbert fumbled with Roderich's belt, slipping it off his waist and tossing it to the floor between kisses. Their tongues were aching to taste, aching to explore each other's mouths. Next was Roderich's pants button, and then his fly, and then off with the entire thing, leaving the Austrian to be concealed only by his boxers.

"Gil," whined Roderich. "I said to wait."

Gilbert pulled back, only enough to look the Austrian square in the eye.

"I like you, princess," he said in a low voice. "I _really_ like you. So next time, don't just say that it's nothing."

"But–"

There was no time to respond.

Gilbert lowered himself, kissing the slight bulge of Roderich's boxers before slipping the garment off of him completely. Roderich squirmed, uncomfortable with the exposure.

"Wait," he whined.

"You have such beautiful legs, princess," commented Gilbert.

"Don't say such things," complained Roderich, who was now a bright red.

Gilbert gently grasped Roderich's half-hard member, marvelling and cherishing it like it was one of the most important things in the world. Roderich could feel Gilbert's warmth breath, which left a tingling sensation all over his skin.

"Gilbert, I'm begging you, please don't–"

"I'll be gentle, baby. Don't worry."

He placed his lips to the tip of Roderich's cock. He was awarded with a moan that sounded more than satisfied when it was covered in warmth. Gilbert grabbed onto Roderich's slender hips, doing his best to keep him stable and still standing. He began to lick the tip, noticing how hot seed was already being released. Roderich's member was swollen and hot, begging for attention.

"Stop teasing me, damnit," frowned Roderich as he shifted uncomfortably.

"You're no fun," smirked Gilbert. But he obliged. He didn't want his lover to wait. No. He wanted him to scream out his name and beg for more.

Slowly, Gilbert began to suck. He hollowed his cheeks as his mouth allowed for Roderich's member to enter. He bobbed his head back and forth, utilizing his tongue to ensure for the most pleasure.

"Oh," groaned Roderich. His heart was racing, his vision was blurred… God. This sensation… It wasn't describable. "God, yes! Gilbert!" Roderich's hand found its way to the back of Gilbert's head, where it managed to stay and guide him as a pit of delicious heat began to build up in his stomach. "Oh, Gilbert…"

Gilbert closed his eyes, concentrating at the task at hand. He wanted Roderich to feel this. He wanted him to know how much he loved him. He couldn't always show it, so he had to make sure that this was gentle, and hot, and fucking amazing. He wanted Roderich to know that it was Gilbert, and only Gilbert, who would make him feel this way.

"Gil… I'm going to…" panted Roderich. His voice was breathy and fucking arousing to Gilbert's ears. "I'm going to cum, Gil. Wait, I–"

But he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't wait. He just wouldn't.

"Oh," groaned Roderich. "God. Oh. _Ffffuuuccckkk_…"

Gilbert pulled back just in time as Roderich's hot seed spilled out with his orgasm. Gilbert stood up, equally as breathless. He nuzzled his nose to Roderich's, scoping and feeling the warmth of Roderich's reddened face, before kissing him tenderly again.

"Gil," panted Roderich between each tender kiss. Gilbert's lips were surprisingly soft.

"Let me do this properly, okay?" said Gilbert.

"What?"

Gilbert lifted Roderich up princess style. It was almost fitting considering his pet name for him. "Wha–? Hey! Wait a second," snapped Roderich.

Gilbert just chuckled. "Which way to your room again?"

28

Gilbert laid Roderich out gently on the bed. He was done being rough. He stripped off Roderich's shirt and discarded it on the floor. Roderich had said numerous times that it was no way to treat clothing, but Gilbert was sure he would make an exception this time. So, there he lay, completely naked. His skin was smooth and soft.

"You're perfect," said Gilbert. Roderich blushed.

"Don't say such weird things."

"But it's the truth."

Gilbert placed a kiss on Roderich's bare shoulder, then his collar bone, and then his chest. They were all sweet and lingering, almost as if they were trying to say '_I love you. I love you so much. I love you more than I can begin to describe_.'

"Gil?"

"Yes, princess?"

"Could you… um…" his voice trailed off shyly. He was kind of cute when he was this meek. Roderich didn't need to say another word, however. Gilbert understood completely. He raised himself slightly, just enough to slip off his own pants and then his own boxers. They were even now, both completely exposed. Completely exposed to each other.

"I love you, Roderich. I really do love you."

With a flush, Roderich said, "I love you, too, Gilbert."

Gilbert reached his right hand up towards Roderich's face. His fingers traced the lining of his jaw and eventually found its way to his mouth. The Austrian parted his lips slightly, allowing the digits to slip into his mouth. He promptly began to start sucking, covering Gilbert's fingers with his saliva.

"You have to tell me if it hurts, alright?" whispered Gilbert. Roderich managed to nod as Gilbert slowly reached down.

He inserted a single finger to start, watching Roderich's reaction. Gilbert kissed the innards of his lover's thigh as he slowly inserted a second.

"Ah," gasped the Austrian, surprised by the pain and the pleasurable sensation. It was ironic how something could hurt, and yet be so wonderful at the same time. Roderich shuddered in delight as Gilbert began a scissoring motion with his fingers, stretching him from the inside. It felt a little weird. And the overall scenario had been completely unpredictable. Who would have thought Roderich would have come to love this idiot? _His_ idiot.

"I'm going to put it in, alright?" asked Gilbert. It sounded more like a statement, though.

Gilbert aligned himself and thrust his hips forward slowly. The warmth that surrounded him was unbelievable! It was slick and smooth and wet and fucking amazing.

"Ah," groaned Roderich, finally feeling satisfied from being filled.

Gilbert began to thrust slowly. He didn't want to hurt him. He had had lovers before, but they never really meant anything. He could have the others wet and wild, but not Roderich. No. This meant something to him. To both of them. He wanted to do this right. Slowly, painfully wonderful, and sweet enough to treasure. Each thrust was awarded with a soft groan from Roderich's lips. The Austrian reached up to touch Gilbert's face. Gilbert kissed him gently, sweetly, wonderfully. This wild beast finally seemed to be tamed.

"Gilbert," gasped Roderich. "This feels so…"

"I know, baby, I know."

And there they were for what felt like forever. It was a comfortable sort of forever. They were joined; touching and kissing and loving. Roderich's fingers were lost in Gilbert's hair, and Gilbert's tongue seemed to blend with Roderich's own. Gilbert began to move faster, but just barely, much to Roderich's frustration. He was almost there, he could feel it. He arched his back, bucking his hips. God. It felt so good. Too good.

"Gilbert," whined Roderich. "Please."

"What is it, princess?"

"Please, I need you." It was essentially a more polite way of saying 'Please, fuck me through the mattress.'

"All in good time, baby."

But, despite wanting control, the heated frenzy that they shared drove Gilbert to pick up the pace. His erection was driving him mad, and the only thing that could sooth him was the warmth of Roderich's body. He hit the same spot over and over and over again, making Roderich twitch and shudder from lust.

"Gil –ah! Right… there."

And so he rammed the same spot, driving Roderich absolutely insane. A pit of wonderfully painful heat began swelling in his stomach. It began to build in intensity each time Gilbert thrust.

"I'm going to… ah…"

"Me, too," said Gilbert. Using a free hand, Gilbert reached down to Roderich's forgotten member. Roderich gasped as his lover began to pump for him, matching the speed of his thrusts.

"God, yes!" exclaimed Roderich, his whole body overheating in excitement.

"Roderich," gasped Gilbert. He was close, too. And just before they came undone with each other, their lips locked once more, delicious and hot and wet. Seed covered Roderich's stomach as Gilbert rode and pumped out the orgasm.

Roderich stroked the back of Gilbert's neck. Exhausted, they lay still for a moment together, listening to each other's wild breathing.

29

Ludwig sighed. "Are you sure?" he asked, a frown on his face.

"You bet. They were all over each other!" exclaimed Eliza. She stuck out her hand. "I told you not to make a wager with me. I'm practically a matchmaker."

"Hmph," was the German's response as he reached for his wallet. "Well, at least this means I don't have to constantly look out after him."

"That sounded a bit lonely," noted Elizabeta.

"You're hearing things," muttered Ludwig, handing the woman a bill.

"You know…" thought Elizabeta. "I think I know somebody who you might look cute with."

"I'm not interested, Eliza."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. Now please get back to work."

"What a shame…" Eliza sighed as she turned to go back towards her desk. "Feliciano's super cute. He's downstairs in accounting, if you wanted to know."

"Unlikely," huffed the German employer.

Ludwig walked off, numerous documents in his arms. Today was going to be a very slow day. Despite the news that his brother was finally turning his life around, there was little to look forward to, and the staff meeting being held tonight was surely going to drag on late into the night. As he turned the corner, Ludwig stopped short when somebody bumped into him. A few of the papers in his hands scattered.

"Ve~" gasped a young man. "I'm so sorry. I should have watched where I was going."

"Er… No… It's alright. It was my fault," said Ludwig. He knelt down to pick up the papers, but the young man beat him to it.

"No, really," he chuckled nervously. "My brother always told me I was a klutz. That's why they stuck me in accounting."

Ludwig could barely see the young man's eyes. He was smiling so widely that his eyes were sealed shut. It was spectacular, the way he seemed to light up the dim hallway. His hair was a warm brown colour, and there was an untamed curl that stuck out rebelliously on his head.

"Accounting?" repeated Ludwig, forgetting why he was having a bad day.

"Yes. I'm Feliciano Vargas. It's nice to meet you, sir!"

"Er…" blinked Ludwig. _Feliciano_. It had such a nice ring to it. The name practically rolled off of the young man's tongue. "I'm Ludwig Beilshmidt."

"Hello!" giggled Feliciano. "I'm sorry for just leaving like this, but I have a lot of paper work and my department manager is going to yell at me again if I don't meet the deadline."

"Right," nodded Ludwig. Why was his heart beating so fast? Maybe he was getting sick…

"I'll see you around, okay?"

"Sure."

Feliciano seemed to skip his way down the halls, waving at all the pretty ladies, who giggled as he passed by. Ludwig was still standing there when Feliciano rounded the corner. He noticed that his face was slightly warm. It was definitely a fever… Surely it was.

Elizabeta was watching from the corner of her eye the entire time, a huge grin on her face. She was pretty good at this. Maybe she should quit her day job…

* * *

Done!


End file.
